


I Do Not Want This

by Trent_In_A_Tree



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Knifeplay, M/M, No Romance, Self-Harm, dude this is so bad like, like dude this is bad shit, not that anyone consented to it lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 20:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11321385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trent_In_A_Tree/pseuds/Trent_In_A_Tree
Summary: Violence would be more exciting than this.Trent's eyes fell shut, the pink of his eyelids looking red in the dark, sort of like blood rising over his vision.





	I Do Not Want This

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THIS   
> ITS REALLY IMPORTANT   
> This fic is actually terrible. Not as in badly written, but as in completely inappropriate and wrong. In it is graphic attempted sexual assualt and intense self harm. If you are bothered by those things, please do not read this. I genuinely didn't write this to upset anyone, and I aired on the safe end with the warnings, marking it as both non consensual and also with graphic descriptions of violence. I genuinely don't want to give someone a horrible Vietnam flashback type thing, so if you are bothered by anything in the tags, please know that I'm very serious that this is quite graphic. You've been warned. 
> 
> Also, I know that this is an exaggeration and entirely OOC. I have immense respect for both Trent Reznor and Marilyn Manson, and wrote this due to wanting to write the breakdown of a character in a circular arc, as well as just sort of having this particular idea pop into my head. 
> 
> I DO NOT SUPPORT ANY OF THE ACTIONS THAT HAPPEN IN THIS JUST A DISCLAIMER
> 
> Lastly, three of my friends encouraged this, but I'm not telling you who they are because if I'm gonna go down I'm not bringing them down with me, but thanks guys, you all know who you are. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this terror.

The entire room was pulsating, or so it seemed. Everyone was too close, and Trent felt much too cramped. His hand was clenched over a glass of beer, which had been ice cold maybe thirty minutes ago and now was slick with sweat from his hands. He hadn't drank a single sip of the now warm alcohol, and wasn't intending to. He had gone here to meet a girl who he wasn't particularly interested in, and predictably she hadn't been there when he'd intended to meet her. 

He didn't have anything else to do, and he wasn't in the headspace to bother leaving and going somewhere else right now. Trent sighed, wishing there was something interesting to do. He leaned against the wall. 

If only he could do whatever he wanted, he thought. He watched the warm bodies writhe against eachother on the dance floor and wished dimly that his hands were clenched on someone's neck, or anything more interesting than right now. Violence would be more exciting than this. 

Trent's eyes fell shut, the pink of his eyelids looking red in the dark, sort of like blood rising over his vision. He let the sweat slick glass slide out of his hand, falling to the floor and breaking into small shards, he suspected, but he didn't bother to look. Sticky warm beer spilled over Trent's boots and he sighed, opening his eyes and walking a few feet to the left as if he had a destination, but stopped when he knew he didn't. 

Trent's hand slid into his pocket, fingers closing around the switchblade he'd always carried for self defense. The things you could do with a switchblade in a club full of people....

Trent's thoughts were interrupted when someone slammed into him. Trent looked up at the stranger and noticed his peculiar beauty. The man was tall and thin, dark curtain of hair cascading over his boney shoulders, lips slathered in smeared earthy red lipstick and eyes surrounded in black liner.

"Hey, sorry, prettyboy." The tall man jeered drunkenly, grinning crookedly at Trent and placing a big hand on the wall, letting it spread spiderlike. 

"Fuck off." Trent spat, trying to pull his gaze away from the man's face. 

"There's no need for that, is there?" The man's dark eyes were round and he looked at Trent in an oddly sweet way as he abruptly slid a big hand up Trent's stomach under his shirt. 

"I--" Trent froze, his hands clenching into tight fists as drunken fingers stroked lazily up his stomach and chest and ribs, one pressing too hard on his nipple. 

"I'm Marilyn." The man above Trent spoke, "I mean, that's what you can call me." 

Trent stood stiffly, not sure how to react to the large hand still running all over his torso. Anger bubbled in his stomach and God did he hate that feeling. 

"If you don't stop--" Trent whispered, but cut off, hating himself for sounding so weak and shakey. 

"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" Marilyn slurred his speech slightly obviously, and Trent wondered how much he'd had to drink. 

"I'm Trent." Trent said, then added, "How much have you had to drink?"

"A bottle of tequila." Marilyn laughed. 

"How close are you to passing out?"

"Almost there." Marilyn cocked an eyebrow at Trent and shifted to a fully standing position, his body swaying like a bent tree. 

"I see." Trent didn't even want to push away the thoughts running through his mind, afterall the guy had his hands all over him. 

Marilyn grabbed Trent's wrist and pulled him effortlessly through a few throngs of people, before Trent could protest. 

"Stop it." Trent snapped, trying in vain to get Marilyn to let him go, as the bigger man smashed straight through the bathroom door, pulling Trent after him. 

Marilyn locked the bathroom door and pressed Trent against the wall, the cold tile digging into his back. Marilyn kissed Trent's mouth hard, and he tried to escape Marilyn's grip, but to no avail. Marilyn broke the kiss for air. 

"Fucking leave me alone, man!" Trent snapped, trying to get out. 

"No way." Marilyn's soft mouth collided drunkenly with Trent's again. 

The bubbling anger got too high in Trent's stomach, and Trent snapped. He punched Marilyn in the face and the tall man lurched back, whining as he cupped his cheek. 

"Okay, I get it." Marilyn said, round brown eyes shining in the yellow sickly light that bathed the bathroom, drunkenly falling against the wall. 

"No." Trent's consciousness was stark with anger. 

"I'm sorry, man, I'm drunk, I'll leave you alone..." Marilyn went quiet as the shwing of Trent's switchblade flicking open echoed in the bathroom. 

Trent walked to Marilyn so there was only about six inches between them and held the glistening blade to Marilyn's neck. Marilyn's lipstick coated lips quivered and the man's eyes glittered with panicked tears threatening to spill. 

This is a kid, a seventeen or eighteen year old kid who came out looking for a good time, something deep inside Trent said, this is wrong. 

"Take off your shirt." Trent whispered. 

He knew damn well it was wrong. 

Marilyn nodded, the long fingered hands that had been acting as Trent's master just minutes ago hooking under the bottom of his tshirt. Marilyn pulled up his shirt, revealing milk white flesh riddled with protruding ribs. He threw his shirt down and crossed his arms instinctively over his chest, leaning against the wall for support. 

"Fucking uncross your arms." Trent poked the tip of the switchblade into Marilyn's upper arm, hard enough for it to briefly break the skin, and Marilyn gasped at the bubble of blood that popped up on his pale skin, rapidly dropping his arms to his sides. 

"Please..." Marilyn whispered, shutting his eyes to restrain tears, black eyeliner smeared over his eyelids. 

"Please, what?" Trent dug the dull side of the blade into Marilyn's stomach. 

"Please, stop." Marilyn whispered. 

"You came on to me." Trent said harshly, "Open your eyes." 

Marilyn nodded, opening his eyes, clenching his fists hard, desperately trying to not let the tears gathering in his eyes escape. 

"Pants off. Give me a show." Trent ordered, digging the switchblade tip into the button on Marilyn's pants. 

Marilyn's hands were shaking wildly with fear and he could hardly stand due to his intoxication. Tears leaked finally from his eyes and his heavy lips quivered as he unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down his legs, pulling them off over his boots and throwing them aside. 

"Good." Trent spoke coldly, snapping the waistband of Marilyn's underwear against his hip. 

"Don't make me take that off..." Marilyn trailed off, his eyes filled with fear, "Please..."

Trent hooked his fingers under the waistband of Marilyn's underwear, pulling it away from his skin, and sliced a straight line down the fabric, the stretchy fabric curling in on itself and falling away from Marilyn's body. Trent slapped his thigh in a way that would be teasing if not for the horrific situation. 

"Why didn't you want to take that off?" Trent asked, grinning a little sadistically, "You have plenty to show off."

Trent wrapped his fingers against Marilyn's cock, stroking it and looking up at Marilyn's face. Marilyn's eyes fell shut again and his lips clenched together. 

"Are you afraid you might like it?" Trent grinned, tightening his hand on Marilyn's hardening cock. 

"I don't like it." Marilyn opened his eyes and tear spilled anew.

"I don't care." Trent unzipped his pants, "Cuz I do."

Trent grinned and held the knife out again just shy of Marilyn's stomach. Marilyn looked up at Trent and shakily sunk to his knees, the tears that streaked his face glittering in the light of the bathroom. Marilyn's lips hovered directly above Trent's crotch and Trent slid his fingers into Marilyn's hair, grabbing tightly and pushing Marilyn's face to his crotch. Marilyn let out a weak sob when his lips touched Trent's crotch. 

"Shut up." Trent pressed the dull end of the switchblade to Marilyn's cheek, "Take what you came here for." 

Marilyn hooked his fingers under the waistband of Trent's underwear, pulling it down his hips gently, and his gentle touch on his legs stopped Trent for a second. 

This is wrong. 

Trent swallowed and ran his fingers through Marilyn's hair, whining when his cock hit the air, so cold against him. Marilyn's lips placed a shakey kiss against the tip of Trent's cock, and Marilyn stared up at him, the softness of his touch directly contrasting the fear still in his eyes. A warm hand wrapped unsteadily around Trent's cock, and Trent forgot his guilt, melting into the touch, the dull end of the switchblade still digging into Marilyn's cheek. 

Marilyn's touch was soft, so soft, and Trent's mind cleared for a second. Here he was, holding a knife to this man-- no boy's-- face, making him suck him off. Trent felt sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes, begging mentally for Marilyn's touch to become rough, for him to get what he deserved. But instead, the other man touched him as if he were his lover. Trent flipped the knife, digging the sharp end into Marilyn's hollowed cheek, and Marilyn jumped back, his mouth falling away from Trent's cock. 

Trent looked at the man lying on the ground beneath him, shaking and too drunk to fight back, his eyes filled with tears and his lipstick smeared. Blood was on his cheek, and his arm, both of the slices still bleeding. Marilyn didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes was hollow, as if he knew Trent was about to kill him. The thought flew threw Trent's mind, but he pushed it away. He reassessed the situation. 

Trent couldn't believe that he'd been sadistically smiling a few minutes ago, threatening to cut the man below him. He slumped down onto the ground, knife still in hand. He leaned his face on his knees, nearly breaking into tears, but nothing would come out. He wished that someone would hit him, bruise him, cut him. God, he was angry, but the anger shifted off the concept of hurting someone else. Trent wished he was the one bleeding on the floor. 

"Go." Trent whispered at Marilyn, "Just go." 

"I..." Marilyn trailed off, staring at Trent in shock. 

"Fucking go!" Trent snapped, impulsively slicing the switchblade across his own forearm in anger. 

Marilyn's eyes were full of fear and he quickly yanked on his pants, grabbing his shirt, and unlocking the door as well as he could drunk. He disappeared into the crowd of people, and Trent was left alone. 

Trent ran his fingers over the slash on his arm, his head pounding. Dimly, he looked up at the grungy bathroom ceiling, wishing he could be free from what he felt and what he had done. He felt like he was looking down at himself as he swiped up blood from the slash, tasting it to see if it was real. Was this even real? He had felt so different a few minutes ago, in charge, but now the pain was back. He knew there was no god, he knew he was alone and there was nothing he could do to change that. 

Trent wanted his humanity back. Trent stood up, wiping the blood from his arm against the dirty wall, then placed his hands again it. He shut his eyes, remembering the only other time he'd done this. He remembered being 15, standing the same way against the wall of his dingy bedroom. He thought things were bad then, but there had been no blood on the wall and no rape victim. 

Trent went against everything he'd believed, that god is dead. 

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned." Trent Reznor closed his eyes, the blood red of his eyelids the same as the blood in his vision and he knew there would be no escape from what he had done.


End file.
